


Five Conversations Kenta and Shibata had During the G1 Climax and One They Wished They Didn't

by F00T



Series: The Takeover are #Soulmates [7]
Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bathing/Washing, Body Worship, Break Up, Dick Pics, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Filming, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, G1 Climax 29, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Secret Relationship, Sexting, The Takeover, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 03:57:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20333668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/F00T/pseuds/F00T
Summary: All good things must come to an end. Sometimes that involves your soulmate kicking you in the face.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> This started out life as a 5+1 where the first five things were soft, intimate scenes and the last was straight-up porn. Unfortunately, I started writing it after watching the A Block finals and some changes had to be made two days later.

“Hey, I’m going to take a bath before bed. Join me?”

Kenta laughed and tossed his duffel bag on the floor of their hotel room. “What makes you think we’d even fit in one of these little American tubs at the same time? Besides, I showered the venue after the show.”

“Are you trying to make me feel bad about not springing for the suite with the fancy whirlpool tub?” Shibata said as he wrapped his arms around Kenta’s waist, working his hands up underneath his shirt.

“Hmmm, perhaps, Kenta said. “I’d say winning my first match in your company deserves a hotel suite with a big tub.” He lifted his arms so Shibata could pull his shirt up over his head and toss it in the direction of his bag. 

“It’s your company too now, Kenta-san.”

“Is it now?”

“Yes,” Shibata said, tugging gently at the waistband of Kenta’s gym shorts, “it is. You’re here to show everyone what you can do and I couldn’t be prouder of what you’ve done so far.”

Kenta held Shibata’s face in his hands and pulled his partner in for a kiss. The fabric of his shirt was scratchy against his bare skin, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to feel was the weight of Katsuyori Shibata pressing against his chest. Their lips parted, and Kenta stared him down through thick eyelashes. “But not proud enough to upgrade to the suite, huh?” he said with a grin.

“Maybe if you get that second win,” Shibata said before sliding his hands under the fabric of Kenta’s shorts and giving each of his ass cheeks a little squeeze.

“You’re so stingy, Shibata-san. You should spoil me more.”

“I’ll scrub your back then. Wash your hair. Does that count?” Shibata said as he leaned into Kenta’s neck, letting his lips brush against his skin.

“Why are you so insistent on getting me into the bath with you? I told you, I already washed up.”

“Hmm, I wonder. I think I just don’t want to spend a single second not with you if I don’t have to.” 

Shibata pulled Kenta’s shorts down his legs, his fingertips stroking down the back of his thighs. The sensation made Kenta let out a low whine, and he couldn’t help grinding against Shibata’s crotch. He felt his dick beginning to stiffen and he pressed his body harder against his partner. He wrapped his arms around Shibata’s back, the thick cotton of his t-shirt dulling the sensation of his nails trying to dig into his skin as he pulled him in tight. Kenta rolled his hips insistently against Shibata, his erection growing harder with every gyration, and did his best to stifle a moan.

“Why so quiet?” Shibata said as he took hold of Kenta’s hips, guiding him to grind more intently against his own pelvis.

Kenta grinned and placed a hand on Shibata’s cheek. “Because it’s late, we don’t know how thin the walls in this place are, and you booked Clark and Karl into the room next door,” he said. “But if you really want them to hear us, maybe you should help me a bit more.”

Before he could respond, Kenta took one of Shibata’s hands into his own and pressed it hard against his stiff cock. Shibata didn’t think twice before wrapping his fingers around it and giving it a few strokes. But Kenta didn’t release his hand; instead, he gripped it harder, controlling the speed and firmness with which Shibata jerked him off. As his pace with his partner’s hand grew more fervent, his head fell back, exposing his neck for Shibata to kiss hungrily. 

“Don’t stop, I’m, ahh, so close,” Kenta moaned.

“I never want to, not when you’re so desperate for me.”

Shibata couldn’t help himself from sucking hard right where Kenta’s neck met his shoulders, biting gently on the skin until Kenta let out a loud gasp and begged him to keep doing that; he didn’t clarify whether he meant biting him or stroking him, so Shibata kept at both until he felt the wetness of precum in his hand. He increased his pace on Kenta’s cock and asked if he was nearly there; the only response he could manage was mouthing the word “please” before his back arched back towards the wall and he blew his load onto his own chest. Kenta’s legs went weak as he climaxed and Shibata did his best to hold him upright with his one free hand, since his partner was still holding his other on his cock, using it to milk himself dry. 

Kenta lifted Shibata’s hand to his mouth, running his knuckles across his lips before taking a few of his fingers into his mouth. His eyes drifted down to his stomach, now sticky with semen, and smirked at Shibata.

“I guess you have a proper reason to bathe me now, Shibata-san?” he said, his voice breathless and tinged with mischief.

“If I had known it would be that easy, I would have dirtied you up the second we got back to the room.” 

Shibata lifted Kenta’s chin in his hand and pulled him in for a kiss before gesturing toward the bathroom with a jerk of his chin. Kenta stepped out of his shorts and sat on the edge of the tub, leaning against the cold tiles of the bathroom wall. He turned on the faucet and dangled his fingers under the water, monitoring the temperature, as he watched Shibata strip out of his own clothes. He couldn’t help but smile at the tall, handsome man who had helped him negotiate his way into New Japan Pro Wrestling and, subsequently, the G1 Climax. Those broad shoulders, the way his back curved into his slim waist, the dark hair trailing down his abs and spreading thick over his pubic mound: Kenta knew it was all for him. He reached for one of the washcloths folded neatly on a metal rack mounted on the wall next to him and held it under the faucet, offering it to Shibata as he sat down facing him.

“This is what you’re waiting for, right?” he asked.

Shibata nodded and squirted a dollop of soap into the damp cloth. With one hand resting on Kenta’s shoulder, he began gently rubbing the cloth against where semen streaked across Kenta’s abs. He took his time, wiping the cloth over his skin in slow, circular motions. As he moved farther up his chest, Kenta couldn’t help but notice that Shibata had long since cleaned off all the jizz from his body but, if the look of concentration in his eyes was any indication, he didn’t seem prepared to stop any time soon. He wiped the soapy cloth around each of Kenta’s pecs in turn and he started to think that maybe he didn’t want Shibata to stop. He liked it when Shibata paid attention to his chest; he’d always been sensitive there and it was one of the most reliable ways for him to get aroused. But, for some reason, this didn’t feel particularly sexual. When he had used Shibata’s hand to jerk himself off and jokingly asked him to clean it up, he had thought it would just be foreplay for Shibata fucking him. Now that he was sitting here with his partner methodically soaping up his chest, though, the situation had changed. This, he felt, was far more intimate than any sex act he had fantasized about Shibata doing to him that night. That didn’t stop Kenta from letting out a low whine as he felt the washcloth brush against his nipple.

Shibata paused. “I can stop, if you’d like,” he said quietly. “If it, umm, tickles or something.”

“No, keep going. Please,” Kenta said. He caught Shibata’s gaze and nodded, mouthing the word ‘please’ a second time, to further convince him. Shibata responded by rewetting the washcloth and massaging it along Kenta’s collarbone and up over his shoulder.

As he worked down his arm in slow, looping motions, Kenta felt his breathing grow slow and heavy. He watched as Shibata took his hand in his own, using it to lift and reposition his arm as he gently spiraled the soapy cloth over bicep. He flipped Kenta’s wrist over and traced his way down the muscles in his forearm before wrapping the cloth around his palm and brushing it over each of his fingers individually. Kenta couldn’t help but smile a bit as he felt him press the rough terry loops of the washcloth against the tips of his fingers, attempting to use the soapy water to clean under his fingernails.

“I thought you said earlier you didn’t want me to do this,” Shibata said as he began to do the same with Kenta’s other hand.

“I didn’t then. But I changed my mind. This is nice. It feels really...nice.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

“I take it you are as well?”

Shibata nodded as he massaged the soapy cloth up Kenta’s arm, lingering on the scar snaking its way over his shoulder. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been able to touch you. Like, really touch all of you, Kenta-san. I was thinking about that during your match tonight. I want to savor every inch of you. Could you turn around please?”

Kenta turned and leaned against the wall, resting his forearms against the tiles. Deep down, he was glad he could turn away to have Shibata scrub his back. It had been years since Shibata had last blindsided him with some affectionate words in private and it took every bit of self control he had to keep from blushing. Maybe he could blame it on the steam from the water collecting in the tub, he thought. He felt Shibata rub the washcloth up the back of his neck and he let his head dip forward in response, exhaling slowly from the sensation of his fingers-through-terrycloth softly stroking along his hairline and behind his ears.

Kenta felt Shibata spiral his way down his back and couldn’t help but moan a bit as he massaged his butt with the soapy cloth. Shibata gripped his waist with his free hand, lifting him slightly off the tub’s edge so he could reach underneath him. He flinched a bit as he felt Shibata scrub gently between his ass cheeks.

“Thorough, aren’t you?” Kenta said, turning to look over his shoulder at him.

“Every inch, Kenta-san,” said Shibata as he rinsed out the washcloth and added some more soap. “You can face me again.”

As Kenta turned back around, Shibata grabbed one of his calves in his hand and lifted his leg up onto his lap. He slid the cloth down his thigh, pressing his fingers hard into the flesh as he did so. Kenta saw him smile as he did so and couldn’t help but ask why.

“You’re softer now than I remember,” Shibata said, running his hand up Kenta’s inner thigh. “Not in a bad way, I’d say. I still know you’re strong but touching you, well..it’s nice. It makes me just want to touch you more. To hold you. To never let you go.”

“So why don’t you? You can now, now that we’re finally together.”

Shibata looked deep into Kenta’s dark eyes. “Yes. Exactly,” he said. “It only took fifteen years but I’ll never let anyone else separate us now.”


	2. II

“You look good.”

The complement took Shibata off guard. Such things never really surprised him, per se; comments on his physical appearance were of little concern to him and didn’t require much beyond polite acknowledgement. Compliments from Kenta, though, were something else entirely. Something about the way he delivered them always made even the simplest phrases sound incredibly loaded. Something about the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice and the way he propped himself up on one elbow in his hotel bed as he said it was far more sincere and meaningful than “you look good” really had any business being.

What threw him off, truly, was that Shibata had no idea what about him at that moment even warranted comment from Kenta. He had just returned from an early morning sparring session with his young lions and hadn’t had a chance to wash up properly. Normally, Kenta would have joined him for these daily workouts, but for reasons completely beyond Shibata’s comprehension, he preferred to sleep late in the mornings after his tournament matches. He had hoped he could make it back to their hotel room before Kenta woke and clean himself up a bit. But here Kenta was, drowsy but definitely awake, greeting him with an observation about how good he looked while he was still in a professional, coaching mindset and soaked in his own sweat. 

“I’m glad you think that,” Shibata said after a long pause. He wondered if Kenta could smell him from across their small hotel room. 

“I’m serious,” Kenta said with a yawn. “You always look extra hot after a workout. It’s a nice thing to wake up to.”

“Then how about you join us in the mornings? You can fantasize for an entire workout and, given how focused Clark and Karl are right now, I doubt they’d notice anything between us.”

Kenta grinned. “Five A.M. sparring, though? I’d rather sleep in and check you out on my own schedule. I’m just glad I didn’t sleep through my chances of a post-workout ogle.”

“You say that like you have an entire itinerary for lusting after me,” Shibata said, his chuckle doing a poor job hiding the fact that he was only half joking.

“And you don’t?” Kenta said. “I’m hurt. I definitely have a mental list of all the little hot things you do all the time.”

Shibata grabbed the towel draped over his shoulders and wiped some of the sweat from his face. “Oh yeah?” he said as he ran his fingers through his hair, damp on the back of his neck. “Tell me some.”

“Well, that, for one. The way you touch your hair. And have you ever seen the way your back looks when you take off a shirt? It’s really something.”

“Can’t say I have. It’s my own back, so…”

“You know what I mean. Like when you watch your old matches on video or something,” Kenta as he sat up in bed. He unplugged his phone from its charger and motioned for Shibata to come closer. “Here, let me show you. Turn around and pull your shirt off when I tell you.”

Shibata sat at the foot of Kenta’s hotel bed. “You know, there’s a big enough mirror in the bathroom, I could probably see what you’re talking about in there.”

“Nope, I want to film you taking off your shirt. That way, you can see what I see,” he said as he fiddled with his phone camera. “And...go. Whenever you’re ready.”

Shibata twisted his body slightly to face Kenta and muttered, “I’m not sure how you want me to do this. Should I actually try to make it erotic or…”

“Oh, just however you normally do it.”

“Well, now I’m thinking about it and I don’t know how I normally do it!”

“For fucks sake, just strip down! It’s not a big production, I’m trying to prove a point here,” Kenta said, stifling a laugh.

Shibata turned away and grasped the bottom hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up over his head. He could feel the fabric, still soaked through with sweat, clinging to his back and he wondered if that was part of the appeal for Kenta. He extended his arms overhead as he pulled it off and rolled his shoulders before scrunching the shirt up and using it to absorb some of the sweat beading on his chest hair. The shirt was so damp enough to begin with that this proved ineffectual; he tossed it in the direction of the bathroom.

“Was that okay?” Shibata asked as he scooted closer to where Kenta was sitting.

“Oh...umm, yeah. Definitely okay. Really, very, definitely okay,” Kenta said, looking up from his phone screen and trying to disguise how lovingly he had been smiling at the image on it. “Just watch this.”

Shibata wrapped his arm around Kenta’s waist as he slid next to him on the bed. He felt Kenta lean into him slightly as he hit play on the video. Kenta tried fast forwarding through the first minute of them bickering about how to take off a shirt and mumbled something about editing all that down.

“No, leave it in,” Shibata said. “It’s funny.”

“If you say so. But see this? Look at how the muscles in your shoulders move under your skin when you lift your arms like that.”

Shibata couldn’t deny that his back did look good. With the way Kenta had zoomed in on it in his video, it was impossible to miss. But somehow admitting that in that moment, even to Kenta, seemed embarrassingly vain.

“It’s nice, I guess,” Shibata said. “If you’re into that.”

Kenta hit replay on the video. “Well, I am into that. And now that you’re effectively retired, my opportunities to see you show off your body are pretty limited,” he said with a smile.

“If you joined me for morning sparring, you’d get more opportunities to see that, you know.”

“Shut up, I’m the one doing a grueling tournament here. Maybe you should join me in the gym at night instead. Hell, I’m doing chest and back stuff today. That’s good for checking each other out.” 

“Hmm, perhaps I’ll join you for leg day. I like watching you squat.”

Kenta laughed. “Who’s ogling who now?”

“Well, at least I’m not the one filming it,” Shibata said, squeezing Kenta tighter. “Are you going to delete that video or what?”

“Absolutely not. I need something for when you’re not here.”


	3. III

The problem, Shibata had found, with watching Kenta’s matches from inside the arena was that the company kept trying to insert him into their stories. He knew exactly why they were doing it. They needed context for Kenta being in the tournament and they couldn’t exactly pull from much else in his career, seeing that his history was all tied up in rival companies. But a longstanding close connection with him? Especially given how limited he had kept his appearances since the accident? Their audience ate that up. Or, it was coming increasingly clear, they ate up the part of that connection that included him. That was the last thing he wanted. He wasn’t the one in the tournament, Kenta was. He didn’t want to distract from him. 

He had extra reason to watch the show from the monitors backstage that night anyway. Kenta was fighting Kazuchika Okada and, if they somehow didn’t jump on the opportunity to make his presence a focal point in Kenta’s story, they would definitely do so for Okada. The very thought exhausted him. He had been offered a guest commentary spot for their match but turned it down. He just wanted to enjoy watching his friend - his partner, his soulmate, his whatever they were - wrestle without becoming part of the match himself. 

Shibata had told Kenta this earlier in the day. He had said he understood and just knowing that he was watching him was enough but Shibata could tell he was disappointed. He remembered telling Kenta before the tournament started that he never wanted to take his eyes off him during his matches and, now that he was starting to see how this was working out for them, he couldn’t help but feel like he was letting Kenta down. But until the powers that be would let him just be an audience member supporting his favorite, watching where Kenta could see him just wasn’t feasible. And he hated everything about it.

So when Kenta fell for the first time to the Rainmaker, Shibata couldn’t help but feel like he was the deciding factor, despite all his efforts to not play a part in Kenta’s story. He wasn’t superstitious, but the feeling that if he had only been out there with him, watching him, had wormed his way into his brain and wouldn’t leave him alone. He had known Kenta for far too long to believe that his performance could be affected by something as inconsequential as not being able to spot him watching from some secluded corner of the arena. But he couldn’t help but wonder if he could have made things different.

He spotted Kenta as soon as he came backstage and pulled him aside as soon as he finished his post-match interview. Once he was sure no one was paying attention to them, Shibata pulled him in for a tight hug. He stroked Kenta’s bare back, hot and dripping with sweat, and felt his partner pause for a second before reciprocating.

“Are you okay, Shibata-san?” he asked.

“Oh? Umm, yes. Are you though? It’s your first loss,” Shibata said.

“Of course I am. These things happen and at least my first loss here was to someone like Okada. Can I make a suggestion though?”

Shibata paused for a second before mumbling an affirmative. 

“It’s Saturday, let’s go out drinking. We haven’t done that in a while, yeah? And you should bring the guys from the dojo along. If the schedule you’ve had them on so far is any indication, they haven’t had any time to do anything fun.”

“Well, this is really more of a training trip for them, fun isn’t really the point.”

“It’s one night! And they’ve been doing really well in their tag matches, let your boys have a break for once. C’mon, I know a place that will get us a private room,” Kenta said. He punctuated his words with a light slap on Shibata’s shoulder, but something about his joviality after his loss seemed like an act. Like he was covering something up. It wasn’t that he expected Kenta to be sad, per se, but in all the years he had known him he had never seen him be anything other than serious after losing a match. That, and motivated to beat down any opponent who bested him twice as hard the next time they were in the ring together. Shibata couldn’t help but think that the Kenta who proposed lighthearted distractions after his loss was trying to distract him from something.

Kenta smiled, the soft, toothy grin that he knew Shibata was weak to, as he pulled away from his friend’s embrace. His face seemed genuine enough, Shibata thought. Maybe he’d developed new coping mechanisms while he was in America. Five years was a long time, after all. 

“If you collect Clark and Karl, I’ll meet you back at the hotel after I get changed. The bar’s really close. We can all walk there if you’d like.”

“I guess,” Shibata said. “I can’t guarantee the boys will come along, they might be too tired for drinking after a show like this.”

“Tell them we’re paying, then,” Kenta said, patting Shibata’s shoulder before taking off to the locker rooms.

\---

Despite knowing how easily he could be swayed by the promise of alcohol on someone else’s dime when he was their age, Shibata had underestimated how excited his young lions were when he told them about Kenta’s plan. He also underestimated how long they would take them to get changed; they kept Kenta and himself waiting for nearly an hour before emerging from their shared room. 

“It’s a private room in a local bar, not a nightclub!” Shibata told Kenta while they waited. “Who are they trying to impress?”

“Just let them have this, it’s not like you give them many social opportunities,” Kenta said.

When the boys finally emerged, Kenta did as he'd promised and led the group to a small, older bar a few blocks away. The owner greeted him warmly and escorted them all to a minimally-decorated room in the back of the establishment, leaving them with a case of beer and a promise to check in on them intermittently if they needed anything else.

Shibata was somewhat relieved to see that Kenta’s alcohol tolerance had improved with age, though he did attribute some of that to how much he had bulked up during his time in America.  Still, that just meant he passed out after six beers instead of four, giving Kenta far more time to mention more instances of the two of them being sloppily drunk in their 20s and early 30s than Shibata would have liked. Clark nodded politely with every story, clearly not sure how to react to his coach’s past antics, but Karl, after his first beer, had plenty of similar (if not worse) college stories to share. He was grateful that Kenta slumped forward, heavy in sleep before his head even touched the table, before he broke into any old drinking stories where Shibata got his dick out. Doubly so because in the bulk of those stories, his dick ended up in Kenta. He had serious doubts that all the alcohol they had consumed that night would help Kenta to remember to leave that particular detail out.

“Nothing that was said tonight leaves this room, understand?” Shibata said as he rested his hand on Kenta’s back while he slept. The boys agreed and Clark excused himself to find a restroom.

With Kenta asleep, the room was much quieter than it had been all night. After a minute of awkward silence, Karl spoke up.

“Sensei, can I ask you a question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want, though.”

“Go ahead,” he said.

“Clark thinks it’s none of our business, but I can’t help but wonder sometimes. What’s the deal with you and Kenta-san?”

Shibata nearly choked on his beer.

“We’re..old friends,” he said, doing everything in his power to retain his composure. “Why do you ask?”

Karl ran his fingers through his hair and Shibata felt relieved that the young lion looked like he felt far more awkward initiating this conversation than Shibata did having it. “Well,” Karl said, “sometimes I catch things that commentary says during Kenta-san’s matches. Not a lot, but I do hear them saying your name and ‘soulmate’ a lot. And I started wondering what they meant by that.”

Shibata chuckled. “Oh that? We started calling each other that ages ago as a joke. Similar wrestling philosophies and styles and all. A few journalists picked up on it and turned it into something it’s not.”

“Is it though? Because looking back, you two seem really close. Like, really, literally close. You’re always touching each other. Hell, you’re doing it right now.”

Shibata slowly pulled his hand away from Kenta’s shoulder.

Karl continued. “And you treat him differently than any of your other close friends that visit the dojo. You don’t smile nearly as much when Tanahashi-san or Goto-san is training with us compared to when he’s there. And while Tanahashi-san gets a hotel room nearby and Goto-san sets up a futon in the sitting room of the dojo house, Kenta-san always stays in your room. And-”

“Karl,” Shibata cut him off. “Have you ever had a friend that you feel like you’ve known your entire life, even though in reality it’s been far less than that? A kindred spirit? A friend you just connect with, more so than anyone else in your life? I won’t deny that I am...fond of Kenta-san. But I assure you, our friendship is just that, no matter how comfortable we are around each other.”

Karl’s head dropped forward in apology. “Sorry, sensei. I guess I jumped to conclusions about things. But...just between us, if you are trying to keep something on the down-low, you’re not doing quite as good of a job as you think.”

“I think you’re done drinking tonight, Karl. You should go find Clark and head back to the hotel. I still expect to see both of you in the front lobby at 5 am tomorrow for our run. I’ll settle up our tab and see that Kenta-san gets to bed. His own bed, alone, despite what your active imagination seems to be telling you,” Shibata said sternly.

Once Karl had thanked him and was long out of earshot, Shibata jostled Kenta awake.

“The boys have their suspicions about us,” he whispered. “That we’re, you know…”

Kenta yawned. “You know, maybe we should just tell them. Especially since I’m spending so much time with them because of the tournament,” he mumbled. “They’re young, they’ll probably be fine with it.”

‘Perhaps,” Shibata said. “But I’d rather not take that chance. Besides, if they think we haven’t exactly been discreet, I’m worried about who else might suspect something.”

“So let them suspect. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Well, to me it does. If anyone does have suspicions about us, I’d rather not give them any more evidence.”

Kenta crossed his arms on the table, resting his chin on them. Shibata placed a hand on his back, only for him to pull away from it slightly. “Is that why you stopped coming out for my tournament matches?” he said, disappointment spreading across his face.

“There are monitors backstage I can watch from. And I’ll always be the first person to meet you once you leave the arena. It’s pretty much the same, right?”

Kenta groaned. “It’s not the same thing at all. What ever happened to doing anything you can to support me?” 

“You know I’ve supported you for as long as we’ve known each other, Kenta-san.”

“Yeah. I know. But sometimes I would just like a reminder.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a parallel story to this one where one of the things that Kenta drunkenly overshares about is how Ass Eating Day works and the reason why Clark is hiding in the bathroom is because he's blowing up the LA Dojo group chat about his newly-discovered rimjob fetish.


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @Orchidblossom suggested this one

Kenta was surprised that the hotel room was still empty when he got back from the gym. Shibata had told him the night before that he would be busy with Clark and Karl that morning: his daily sunrise workouts with all the young lions, of course, but he’d also scheduled a magazine interview for them all to promote what he was doing with the LA Dojo. But it was nearly one in the afternoon by that point; surely, he thought, they’d be finished up with that by now.

He sent Shibata a text asking when they were all getting back before heading to the bathroom to clean himself up after his workout. The humidity was brutal that summer; just as bad, if not worse, than what he had hoped to leave behind in Florida. With all the physical activity the tournament demanded, Kenta felt like he was wasting half of every day bathing just to avoid being constantly pungent and sticky. At least it helped with the sore muscles.

He wrapped a towel around his waist as he exited the bathroom and pulled on the first black t-shirt he found lying near their luggage. It fit like a sack and he knew he had grabbed one of Shibata’s by mistake. Kenta looked down at the text on the front: THE WRESTLER. Definitely Shibata’s, especially given the size. Kenta was pretty sure he only owned four shirts and he liked them all baggy. He had tried before to convince him to buy more clothing, especially pieces that actually fit, but it had never worked. He wasn’t a fashion person, he said. Just wearing his own merch all the time was what suited him. As much as Kenta longed to dress him in more stylish things, he had long since compromised and now only gave Shibata his own merch shirts. Sometimes, when it was just the two of them, he would wear Kenta’s old No Mercy shirt. Shibata said he liked sleeping in Kenta’s shirts when they were apart but a small voice in the back of his head wished he would also wear them where other people could see.

Kenta flopped onto his back on the bed and saw there was a text notification on his phone. 

> _Taking the boys out for lunch. They also wanted to run a few errands but can’t figure out where anything is. Want me to bring you back something to eat? -SK _

He thought for a minute and then pulled up the camera on his phone, snapping a picture of himself lying on the bed wearing Shibata’s shirt. He took a few more, testing out different facial expressions and arm configurations, to find something that he thought Shibata might like. He twisted his hips into a new position and the towel slipped loose from his waist. The shirt, he figured, was oversized enough to cover everything so he took a couple photos like that as well. It wasn’t until Kenta was swiping through the pics he had taken that he noticed that you could see the tip of his dick peeking out from the bottom hem of the shirt, lying soft against his thigh. It was subtle enough that Shibata might not even notice and Kenta knew he absolutely had to send him this. He typed up a response and added the photo before hitting send.

> _ Just you is fine. -L’il K _

It wasn’t long before he got a response but from the looks of it, Shibata definitely hadn’t noticed.

> _ Hey, that’s mine. _

Kenta groaned. There were plenty of instances when he found Shibata’s obliviousness charming, but this wasn’t one of them. He pulled up the photo again and examined it closely. Even if you somehow missed the sliver of cock, he thought, he still looked fucking hot. Something about the way the hem of the shirt draped across his upper thigh and how his still-damp hair clung to his forehead at least warranted a complement. Here he was, trying his best to look sultry, yet tasteful, and all Shibata could notice was that he had stolen one of his few shirts. Fuck subtlety, Kenta thought. He needed to ramp things up.

He took his cock in his hand and gave himself a few swift strokes, trying to get himself fully hard as quickly as possible. He pulled Shibata’s shirt up with one hand, positioning the fabric so one of his pecs was mostly exposed but the text on the shirt was still visible. Kenta adjusted his erection so it laid against his pelvis without him needing to hold it there. He fondled his exposed nipple until it was stiff against his fingertips and used his free hand to take several photos. He settled on one that cut off all but the bottom of his face, but the way his lips were just barely parted in it was unmistakably lewd. If Shibata saw that and didn’t immediately want to insert any part of himself into them, he didn’t know more direct he could be. Hell, his cock was already hard and fully exposed. He typed out a message and added the picture.

> _ Yeah. I know I am. _

He debated adding a heart or the like to the end but decided against it before sending. Kenta felt he had made his point. He dropped his phone near his shoulder and let his hand drift down to his erection. He hadn’t originally planned on finishing himself off, but the thought of Shibata opening that photo over lunch with his trainees and not knowing how to deal with it excited him more than he thought it would.

He wasn’t expecting a phone call in response.

Shibata’s voice was hushed on the other end of the line. “Kenta-san, what are you, ah...fuck…”

Kenta couldn’t help but laugh. “Where are you right now?” he asked.

“I’m in the 7-11 a few streets down from the hotel,” Shibata said, sighing heavily. “In their water closet. The shopkeeper knows a bit of English and latched onto the boys so I was able to slip away, but...fuck, you’re just...you’re really something, you know?”

“So I take it you like what you see then?”

“Well...yeah. Yes. You know I do. But...fuck, it’s not the best time, the boys are with me…”

“Shibata-san, those boys are adults and they can take care of themselves, now stay on the line because I’m, ahhhh, really close and I want you to listen to me come.”

There was a pause on Shibata’s end of the call. “You know...you’re really, truly something else, Kenta-san,” he said quietly and Kenta swore he could hear him smile. “Don’t tell me you’re still wearing my shirt.”

“Of course I am,” Kenta said, increasing the speed with which he stroked himself. “I’m gonna come all over it and leave it for you to clean up.” He hoped Shibata could hear his skin rubbing against skin over the phone. Just in case he couldn’t, he let out a long, breathless moan to really get his point across.

“You little tease, that’s my last clean shirt for the week,” Shibata said, chuckling. “Besides, if you’re so keen on making a mess on my clothes, I want to be the one to get you there.”

“Too late,” Kenta said with a gasp. He felt his fingers grow wet and sticky as he filled his hand with ejaculate. With the shirt still pulled up high on his chest, he managed to keep it completely clean, but Shibata didn’t need to know that. “Besides, it’s your fault for not owning enough shirts.”

“You beautiful little shit, sometimes you’re just too much, you know?” said Shibata. “Now stay where you are and don’t do anything. I’m collecting Clark and Karl and heading back to the hotel. And you better have another round left in you. I’m not letting you dirty up my laundry all by yourself.” 

Kenta heard the call end and dropped his phone by his side. He lifted his hand to his mouth, licking some of the semen from his fingers. He wasn’t sure how long it would take for his travel companions to walk back to the hotel but he hoped whatever mess that Shibata had planned for him was worth the wait.


	5. V

“Does it bother you at all? You know, the jeers?”

Shibata’s question made Kenta pause. When he had asked if they could walk back to their hotel after the show so they could talk, he assumed it would be about their plans for the final stretch of the tournament. This seemed far more loaded though. Did he care how the crowds were reacting to him? Not in the slightest. But it seemed like Shibata cared about whether he did and he wasn’t sure how to take that.

“Are you worried that just being associated with you isn’t enough to get me over?” he said.

“Of course not. But I figured it wouldn’t hurt,” Shibata said as he draped his arm around Kenta’s shoulders.

“Well, I’m still an outsider to them. And, as much as I’d like to say otherwise, still a bit rusty in the ring. But I’d say boos are a hell of a lot better than silence.”

“Mmm, I feel like there’s been plenty of silence too.”

Kenta laughed. “Trust me, I’ve gotten silence before. I’ve gotten no reaction. Why do you think I joined your company? This is still better than what I was dealing with for the past five years.”

“I’m glad you’re staying positive then,” said Shibata. “I was starting to get concerned that these crowds would never see what I see in you.”

“Give it time, they’ll come around to me.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so. They may know me as your closest friend, but I’m my own wrestler. And just because the crowd has always loved you doesn’t mean they’ll immediately take to me. Sometimes it takes a bit longer.” They reached an intersection and stopped, waiting for the crossing signal to change. Kenta noted that there was no one else on the road that late at night and, secure in the belief that they wouldn’t be seen, leaned into Shibata’s shoulder and nuzzled against him.

Shibata chuckled and pulled Kenta closer, ruffling his hair. “Well, aside from when I came back to the company after taking off for all those years. They hated me for the longest time until I made them cheer.”

“Really now,” Kenta said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

“Absolutely. I’m sure it was the same in Noah, but you know the only thing these crowds hate more than an outsider? A traitor.”

“It’s hard to imagine you betraying anyone, Shibata-san.”

The crossing light changed and they shuffled across the dark street, clinging to each other.

“Well, once the audience sees you turning your back on something they love, they’ll never forgive you. Not until you give them a reason to. But you know that, you’ve been in this business just as long as I have,” Shibata said as he squeezed his partner tight.

“Yeah. I know.”


	6. +

It isn’t Kenta’s first choice to leave Budokan Hall alone after the finals, but it’s still preferable to the alternatives. His luggage has been packed since early in the day, but it’s still in the hotel room he shares with Shibata. Shared. They’re past tense now.

The plan is to slip in, grab his suitcase, and leave the key. Tama had offered to join him, in case he needed backup if things got messy, but Kenta turned down the offer. He’s looking to avoid confrontation if at all possible and if Tama Tonga is anything, it’s confrontational. Besides, he thinks to himself, Tama’s idea of what “things getting messy” looks like between him and Katsuyori Shibata is far removed from the truth. The only things anyone in the Bullet Club knows about he and Shibata’s relationship is the things they’ve allowed the public to see. None of them know how literal the word “soulmates” was. He’d prefer to keep it that way. He doesn’t need or want Tama to provide backup for him sneaking out of a hotel room because he knows Tama’s expecting a fight. And while he knows that is definitely a possibility, there’s an even greater chance that he’d just need Tama Tonga to pull Shibata’s cock out of his mouth.

Kenta can’t deny that he’ll miss it. The companionship, the intimacy, the sex. God, the sex. He’s aching for one last ride and he knows, given how things went down, there’s no way Shibata will ever give it to him. He’s known him long enough to know he can hold a grudge like no other. But this too is part of a plan. Fifteen years of intimacy too easily becomes fifteen years of complacency. And even more easily becomes stagnation. Kenta knows a thing or two about what it’s like to stagnate. It’s why he negotiated his way out of that WWE contract and came here in the first place. But it also means he knows the warning signs. He knows that there’s a trade-off for finally being able to spend all the time he’s ever wanted with his most kindred of spirits. For him being the last thing he sees at night and the first thing he sees in the morning. To train alongside him and and power through travel fatigue with him and to wrestle for him but also himself but definitely also to ignite that fire within him. And, fuck, to feel him around him and inside him and against him and have it feel like home. 

Complacency and stagnation. All of it. He hates to admit it but it’s true.

He wonders if he would have done better in the tournament if Shibata wasn’t there. When did he become a distraction for him? Kenta prefers not to think about it. He’s made his choice and he’s moving forward and upward and, in a perfect world, maybe Shibata will still be waiting at the top for him. To kick him back down, more likely. He can still feel Shibata’s feet landing hard against his jaw and he wonders if Shibata can still feel his weight on his chest. Was that the last time they’ll touch each other? It’s a possibility. But it’s a sacrifice Kenta has decided to make in the service of his career.

As he approaches the loading dock near where he parked his rental car, Kenta feels a sharp tug on the back of his shirt and before he entirely knows what’s happening, the man who always was something to him and, for the last two months, was everything to him has him pinned against the wall. He’s never seen Shibata cry before and it wouldn’t surprise him if he’s never cried, period, but the energy between them is so tense and heavy that Kenta thinks now might finally be that first time. He can’t look him in the eye. He hadn’t felt guilty about what he’s done until right then and he can’t look Shibata in the eye. He knows the second he does, he’ll slip back into his old habits and that fear of his life stagnating again will come roaring back.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Shibata says after a long pause. “Actually, I’d prefer if you didn’t. You made a choice and I can’t say I understand it, but it was your choice to make.”

Kenta feels Shibata’s head fall against his shoulder and every muscle in his body is screaming to pull him in close and hold him there until everything is back to the way it was between them. But everything being the way it was was the problem. He bites his lip hard and holds his arms stiff against the wall and has to look away from the man holding him there. The feeling of Shibata’s slow, heavy breathing against his body is infinitely more painful than the metallic sting in his mouth ever will be.

And then Shibata’s kissing him and for the very first time in his entire life, Kenta wishes he wouldn’t but he also knows he’ll never pull away. It’s rougher than they’ve kissed before, significantly so: nothing but tongues and teeth and muscles and Shibata’s hands on his face and around his neck. There’s no passion there and Kenta’s thankful for that one thing. If Shibata were to kiss him like he had all those times before, all those countless times, it would be the one thing to break him. But this is a kiss to send a message.

Shibata grabs his cheeks in his hands, pulling Kenta’s face centimeters from his own, and commands him to look at him. He doesn’t. He can’t. Doing so will ruin every plan he had for the cleanest possible break between them.

“Look at me, damn it. Please. Just look at me one last time. I want to see your eyes, Kenta. Please.”

His voice is cracking and Kenta can’t help but notice this is the first time in all the years they’ve known each other that he’s dropped the honorific. That’s what breaks him.

“I just want you to know that I’ll never stop fighting for you. No matter what. You know what I’ve been through and what I’ve come back from and I’d go through that all again if it meant having you back with me. You’ll never be rid of me that easily, Kenta. That’s all.”

Every place Shibata has ever touched him feels like a void and, for the first time since he made this decision, he’s not sure the Bullet Club can fill it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pro wrestling is fake but soulmates are real. 
> 
> I will go down with this ship.


End file.
